Truth or Dare

Chapter 10: Consummation

"Harry, Ron, I'm not coming back to the common room tonight," Hermione said mildly.

Harry and Ron just stared at her, unsure of how to respond, uncomfortable at the insinuation.

"Sooo... just dissuade and misdirect anyone who comes asking about me, unless it's Blaise." Hermione played with her fingers and would not meet their eyes. "She'd like to know, but I don't think I can--" Her voice caught, and she was suddenly very aware of the sensuous slide of translucent silk and thick satin underneath her robes. The heat of Snape's gaze, even for that one moment, scared her, but she could not stop thinking about it and seeing it and feeling the excitement of power, of having the ability to stimulate, arouse. But she knew neither boy would understand, even a little, so her combined allure and revulsion for what she was going to do tonight she kept to herself.

"Um, good luck, I guess," Ron said shiftily. "I mean..." He could not say much else. He examined the embroidery of the floor.

Harry seemed to be struggling with something. He never knew it, but his face had always shown every emotion he had ever had. It was clear he was feeling guilty, as guilty as when he had made his mistake with Sirius.

"Harry..." Hermione began, but he leaned forward and gave her an awkward hug.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm sorry. Next time you can let us be stupid on our own. I'm sorry."

"Harry..." Hermione said, "after tonight it'll be over for me and you won't have to worry." She despised lying, and it seemed Harry knew she was lying, too. He shook his head.

"I need to do it," she whispered. "You know I do."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "but you shouldn't have to." He turned away and stormed out the portrait hole. He did not look back.

Ron's ears had gone a beautiful shade of vermilion. He tried to say something, but his voice failed him and he followed Harry. Hermione was left in the common room--not all alone, for there were many Gryffindors lounging about or doing homework, but none were aware of her plight, so none could sympathize. None even knew, so she left the common room herself and went to the dining hall early.

Valentine's Day was a casual affair where a few cards and presents were exchanged, save for the memorable holiday of her second year. The females were more emphatic about the latter, so sometimes there were rows over forgotten gift-giving, and those were entertaining. It didn't usually happen though.

Today was no exception. Hermione sat down at her accepted seat and began her early dinner. She had no appetite, so anxious was she over the night that was going to follow.

"Nervous?" Blaise whispered in her ear.

Hermione started, then put a hand to her heart to steady herself. "Blaise, you scared me to death."

"No, you're still breathing as far as I know," Blaise said dryly. "But your nerves are tight, which answers my question. Potter told me."

"Don't suppose you could offer a word of comfort?" Hermione mused aloud.

"Try and enjoy it."

"What?!" Hermione cried, jerking around in anger.

"You heard me. If you don't enjoy it--if you're cold--it will only hurt more. You are a virgin, aren't you?"

"Yes, but--"

"So give it to him and enjoy it."

Hermione, realizing how loud they were becoming, lowered her voice and hissed, "Do you have any idea how much more awfully I would feel if I enjoyed what I was doing? I'd feel like a slut."

"He's going to enjoy it, and I think it will bother him after the fact, but it will help you during intercourse, which--at this time--should be all you are thinking about. Just a bit of advice and small consolation."

Hermione slapped her. Blaise's face turned bright red where Hermione had hit her, but she just laughed indifferently and returned to the Slytherin table.

Enjoy it? Hermione thought bitterly. How am I supposed to enjoy it? I'm going to sleep with a professor, for Merlin's sake!

his lips tease her neck as his hand drifts down her abdomen, and lower. She arches to his touch, and he smiles, half-lidded eyes glowing, and claims her mouth again....

Hermione slammed the door shut in her mind. No, she must not think of that.

It will only hurt more, Blaise's voice whispered sneakily. You are a virgin, aren't you?

She raised her hands to clap them over her ears, then forced herself midway to doing so not to attract attention. Just eat your dinner, and you'll be fine, she told herself sharply. You'll be fine.

But the churning of her stomach belied her anxiety, and despite her attempt to maintain a calm demeanor, the food was threatening to abandon her stomach.

Harry and Ron came in later, but Harry took one look at Hermione and walked to the other end of the table. Ron followed him. Lavender and Parvati started whispering delicious gossip about what had supposedly gone on between the three best friends. Hermione was interested at the rumors she might hear about herself on the morrow.

Dinner was torture, Harry and Ron sneaking glances at her, shame painted in wide strokes on their faces. The valentine she received from the Slytherin table did not help matters.

It was an elegant bit of emerald parchment tied by a silver ribbon, its origins made clear. The cackling of a certain group of Slytherins also made its writer very clear.

Almost rebelliously, Hermione opened the parchment and read, blushing more every second:

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Snape's lonely and sad
And waiting for you.

Do you feel his desire
When he screams out your name?
I know you screamed back
The moment he came.

So you return again.
No, you can't get enough.
Don't you just love it
When real men get rough?

I know you dream of him,
The... magic of his touch.
And the Potions Master told me
You fulfill him very much.

So return to his quarters
I reckon he won't mind,
He yearns for the feeling
Of yours and his entwined.

On the desk, on the bed
In a cauldron, burning red
With the fire you inflame.
He can't get you out of his head.

Caress him, kiss him, tease him.
His blood burns with desire
To have you tight around him
Exploding with your fire.

Draco Malfoy

Hermione wanted to scream, cry, and make a scene. She wanted to throw up onto her plate. She wanted to run out of the Dining Hall. She wanted to stop blushing. She wanted to go back to the beginning of the year and avoid the entire quandary altogether. But most of all, she wanted to kill Draco Malfoy.

She did none of these things. She ignited the parchment with an outward mien of pleasant surprise, then resumed eating. It was all she could do to keep from a fantastic display of carnage Lord Voldemort would be proud of.

~888~

She hesitated before the door of his office. According to the apprehended Marauder's Map, Snape's quarters were located flush against his private laboratory, which was in turn connected to his office--presumably in case he wanted to brew a potion during the night, which Hermione had never seen him do.

Gathering her courage, she opened the door until it was just the width to get through, then she shut it behind her, doing the same to the laboratory door. She hesitated again at the door to Snape's quarters.

Everything she had planned became painfully read, not something that was going to happen in the future, but something that was here, now. Her hands began to tremble violently at the knowledge that in just minutes, she was going to walk into a professor's room, remove her robes, and climb into his slimy, disgusting, wretched, contemptible, damning... A shriek was building up in her throat, but she forced herself to remain composed.

She opened the door.

A dying flickering fire faintly illuminated the open sitting room and bedroom. It was modestly furnished, yet elegantly masculine in the forest greens, maroons, and navy blues coupled with dark wood grain. Across the rooms was his four-poster, bed curtains forcefully drawn, barring the extent of her sight.

Fingers trembling in fear, she removed her robes, then set them on one of the couches in the sitting room. She lifted her feet from her slippers. The soft padding of her bare feet gently betrayed her approach to the bed. She slowly drew back the curtains.

But at the first crack of fire light, Snape flew at her in a fury. This time he wasted no time on surprise with her attire. He whipped her around so that her arm was twisted up her back and she was facing away from him toward the fire.

"If I wasn't so composed, Miss Granger, at the sound of my office door opening I would have killed you. What madness is this? Do you still fancy yourself in lust for me?" He shook her. "I'll confess I was startled, but not terribly so, at your initial advances, but I never believed you would be so mundane as to sneak into my chambers and attempt to seduce me here." His voice slowly rose in volume as his grip grew tighter. "I shall have to tell your Head of House about this encroachment--"

"Oh, no, please don't," Hermione gasped, pleading, wincing at the pain up her arm.

"Yes," he said, shaking her more intensely. "To approach a professor... the Headmaster would be interested in such matters..."

"No, Professor, you don't understand--"

"I understand perfectly!" he barked. "I had fooled myself into thinking that you had more common sense than those oversexed girls, but I was obviously mistaken. Can you imagine the look on Professor McGonagall's face when she sees her chick's mindless folly. Or even better, Potter's..."

"He already knows," Hermione said desperately.

"Then no wonder he avoided you during dinner this evening. Grow up, Miss Granger. Now let's go wake your Head."

She began struggling to the best of her ability, willing herself to ignore the bolts of pain shooting through her arm.

"Please, Professor, I--"

"Silence, girl!"

"But I--"

"I said silence!"

"You--"

"SILENCE!" Snape bellowed.

"I HAVE TO!" Hermione yelled back. The force of the statement, in both volume and pained sincerity, halted Snape in his tracks. "I don't want to, Professor, I have to."

Snape abruptly released her arm. "What?" he asked hoarsely.

"It was a Dare."

"Deny it, it's easy enough," Snape snapped.

"Not an ordinary Dare. Wizard's Dare. I am bound to execute it."

Snape wore softly, and Hermione turned around. "Draco Malfoy Dared me to seduce you." He stumbled away from her to one of the couches. He sank down, shocked. "Why?" he inquired, his face ashen.

Hermione sat on a couch adjacent to his. "He said it was because you were looking... more unhealthy than usual. But it was really because of Harry's Dare for him."

Snape's countenance hardened. "Potter was there as well?"

"And Ron and Pansy. And Blaise," Hermione added.

"Miss Zabini?" Snape said. An eyebrow arched. "I would not have thought she'd be drawn into something as risky and foolish as Wizard's Truth or Dare. Then again, I would not have thought it of you."

"I figured Harry and Ron wanted moral support in their stupidity," Hermione muttered bitterly.

Snape barked a sharp laugh. "It took you long enough to realize it."

"They're smart sometimes," Hermione replied softly. "But you and your Slytherins bring out the worst in them."

Snape snorted. "That's not so hard."

"I'll admit that in fifth year, he was a bit of a prat, but so was Ron in fourth year, and so was I this year, especially after the Dare. Remember, I went hysterical; I had a break down."

"Was that what the academic meeting was about?"

Hermione nodded.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "When exactly did this game take place?"

"The day before we started Love Potions--"

"--And Mr. Finnegan made his inappropriate advances. You did seem unusually distraught."

Hermione glanced at Snape, surprised that he would have been sensitive enough to notice.

There was a slight pause.

"Just out of curiosity, what was the Dare Potter gave to Mr. Malfoy that caused such reciprocation?" Snape turned to her, then looked away again.

Hermione blushed, but she could not keep the smile from her face. "You'd be proud of Harry. Considering their rivalry, I think he gave quite an effective Dare."

Snape interrupted, "That caused your predicament."

Hermione continued as though she had not heard him, though her face flushed even more. "Malfoy has to either kiss Mrs. Norris' behind or Mr. Filch passionately on the lips in the middle of the Great Hall."

Snape's face twisted in revulsion. "That's worse than I thought."

"But, as I said, it was effective."

"Revolting, but under the circumstances..." He shook his head. "All's fair..."

"... in love and war," Hermione finished awkwardly.

"I know how it ends, Miss Granger."

Another pause, considerably tenser than the last.

This time Snape was unnaturally gentle. "Explain the specific requirements of the Dare. Mr. Malfoy would have been thorough."

Hermione would not say anything for a while, though she opened her mouth several times. When she finally began to speak, it sounded like her voice fought through wool. "I seduce you without the aid of magic, have sex once, you do whatever else you want with me, and I spend the night here next to you. In the morning, you tell Malfoy that it happened. He made it clear that I could not get out of it."

"Did he give you a time restraint?" Snape asked.

"Until the end of the year. When I mentally and physically tried to rebel, I got sick, I had dreams..." Hermione trailed off, mind drifting guiltily to what these dreams had been.

flesh on flesh

Another silence. Snape abruptly stood and paced in front of the fire. Hermione watched him, his features almost in total silhouette, the profile of his face subtly brooding. Her breathing began to quicken as she realized he as well as she dreaded the inevitable moment when she would have to seduce him, thus breaking just about every rule of the rapport between student and teacher and destroying each other's dignity at the same time.

"Professor," Hermione ventured warily, "I don't want to do this any more than you do, but I have no choice."

"You had one," he snarled, the accusation blatant. "But you chose to be an idiot. Now I have to pay."

"Well, if you hadn't encouraged Malfoy at every turn--"

"If Potter and Weasley weren't so keen on upholding Gryffindor honor--"

"If you weren't a Death Eater--"

Snape whirled around, eyes blazing luminously. "What has that got to do with it?" Then there was a flash of something like revelation in his eyes, anguish, then nothing.

"This summer you were summoned more often than usual, weren't you? It exhausts you, and the Slytherins noticed that. It was your exhaustion that made Malfoy think I'd be a nice, little gift to calm you down. And look," Hermione said snidely, indicating herself, "I even packaged myself for the occasion."

Snape's eyes focused on her costume. It was actually quite modest in many respects, but what counted was showing. She had used the hair and skin potions and powders for a week, and now blemishes had been replaced by smooth, almost glowing skin and softer hair than Hermione was used to dealing with. But her hair and skin was not what Snape was looking at. Not at all. Blaise, the mirror, and the boys had done sinfully well in their selection. It was a dark rose red negligee that extended to the ground, the skirt flowing, splitting at the legs all the way up to her hips, leaving no room for underclothes. The bodice and straps were of a thin semi-transparent silk that had it been of any other fabric it would have been only slightly revealing. But through the thin material, accentuated sensuously by the firelight, the color and curve of her breasts were painfully apparent. Hermione stood to his gaze, ashamed at the seductive play, but aware of its effect on him. He licked his lips self-consciously and tried to stand straighter, more intimidating. The direction of his stare belied his attempted deception.

And Hermione was trying to ignore the fact Snape himself was half naked as well. His shoulders and chest were broad, shadows enhanced by a thatch of black chest hair, but he was not merely thin. His ribs were stretching through the skin and his body was practically gaunt in the dim light. His cheekbones looked like those of a skull. His complexion was white from both genetics and underexposure to the sun, and it provided a sharp contrast to his hair. Hermione remembered again the fine shape of his hands.

running burning trails along her skin

She took one step forward, and he flinched, twisting his face into a poor excuse for normalcy. "Where did you find such an ensemble? It--"

"Horizon Alley, right next to Erotica Alley," Hermione said as she continued to advance. For the first time, she saw him at a loss for words.

"Sit down, Professor," she whispered, uncertain now. "I-I'm not very sure where to begin."

His mouth thinned until his lips nearly disappeared, but he settled back onto one of the couches.

"I don't suppose you could--" Hermione ventured.

"He said you seduce me, Miss Granger," he replied coldly. "So do what you will."

She hesitated, then reached out to touch his shoulder. He drew back with a hiss, but then forced himself to relax against her.

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" Hermione said, her tone a mixture of apprehension, slight excitement, guilt, and resignation.

"Considering I desperately wish to flee the situation, I think this is as cooperative as you'll find me for now," he said stiffly.

"Oh."

She slid her finger down his back, increasing the amount of skin she was touching until her entire hand was on him. His muscles were tense, straining against her hand. A thin sweat at the combined touch created an almost protective layer between them. He was slightly clammy, but under his anxious skin was a burning, tight heat. The texture of him was surprisingly smooth, marred only by the rasping down of his body hair, and Hermione felt a terrible revulsion and a horrifying attraction; she did not know which was worse. Snape had closed his eyes, looking for all the world like he wanted to spring away, into the fire, out of the room.

Her thumb rested into the depression above his collarbone. All her concentration was on the feel of him, the grating sound in her ear of his strangled breath, the flickering of the fire turning his pale skin to a golden red.

"Professor," she whispered. She ran her hand up his neck to his jaw where he was slightly prickly. He only shaved every two days in the morning, and the dusting of a beard tried to jar her back to reality; she pushed it stubbornly aside. The pad of her index finger brushed his lower lip, and she trembled.

"Professor, I'm not sure..." She leaned over him, bracing herself with her other hand on his knee. Rather than hesitate, which she physically yearned to do, she quickly and completely pressed her lips against his.

His mouth was softer than she would have expected, especially since few soft words escaped it. He stiffened at first, but as she kissed him again, his lips relaxed, falling cautiously into the rhythm that Hermione set as she captured and recaptured his mouth, trying to simulate what she knew of passion that she had absorbed from her dreams. However, she could not help but notice the herbal smell of a Potions professor, the throaty sound of his breathing, the knowledge of his lips sliding against his uneven teeth as he kissed her, the complete wrongness of his hand covering hers.

She stumbled backward, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She shuddered so violently, it was like a seizure, and she fell to the ground, curling herself into a sitting ball, leaning against one of the couches.

"I can't do this," she gasped between dry sobs and near hyperventilation. "I just--gods, this is so bad, so bad."

"You brought it upon yourself." His words were quiet, almost under his breath, but they sounded in Hermione's ears like shattering cymbals. She covered her ears and shook her head emphatically, eyes clenched shut, closing out any indication of her guilt.

With an agility few men of his age possessed, he stood, then crouched to his knees in one fluid motion. He bent over her and yanked her hands from her ears.

"You did it. This is not Malfoy's fault, Zabini's fault, or Parkinson's fault. This is not Potter's or Weasley's fault. This is your punishment."

"I didn't want to, even then I didn't want to!"

"But you did it anyway, Miss Granger. You made a conscious decision to destroy yourself. Now you have to pull yourself together and do it, then forget about it."

"I can't!" she screamed. "Maybe you can, but when I leave, I'm going to remember this for the rest of my life. It's bothered me enough getting to the point where I could come here, but this isn't one of those ordeals where the anticipation is worse than the action. This is not going to go away."

"You should have thought of that!" he bellowed, pulling back his right hand to slap her, then setting it down with a modicum of restraint.

"Should! Should! Should!" Hermione countered. "It all sounds so easy as hindsight, but it's not so easy at the time. Aren't there stupid decisions you've made in your life that you look back on and cringe?" Hermione looked pointedly at Snape's left forearm where the Dark Mark was clear and distinct, even in the now almost extinguished light.

She instinctively clutched at the arm. His mouth snapped shut, but he did not break eye contact.
Hermione found that, as much as she wanted to, she could not tear her glimmering eyes from his, and slowly but surely her tears evaporated.

"Are you ready to be reasonable, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, cold as a day in January.

"There is nothing reasonable about this. You made that clear."

Snape leaned away and settled back against the seat of a couch, legs outstretched casually. He no longer looked furious, frustrated, or irritated, but finally resigned. The lines on his forehead and the creases at his eyes and mouth lessened. The muscles of his face settled in exhaustion.

"It's past midnight, Miss Granger, and I need to get up in the morning."

"So do I."

There were many snide remarks that he could have shot at her, but he just continued the even rise and fall of his chest.

"It really isn't personal," Hermione offered quietly. "I'd be this way if I was forced onto anyone else in the school."

"But it's worse with me," Snape said, not bitterly.

"Not really."

"Pretend it isn't me. The fire's nearly extinguished. When it's dark, you don't have to see me, and you can substitute me with the desirable man of your choice."

Hermione shook her head. "I have none."

There was a pause as they watched the embers valiantly continue to burn. It was only when a few sparks were left and the room was nearly dark that there was a rustle of satin on satin.

Hermione crawled over to him, over his legs. She straddled him gently, leaving a fairly modest space between their hips. Then she twined a hand in his hair and pulled him to her.

This time, Hermione was patient with herself. She was tired, which in the end, especially in the dark, was her biggest aid.

She was soft, hesitant, but focused enough that Snape yielded to her in a pitied response. Maybe he realized how much was at stake. Maybe he felt Hermione had been punished enough. Or maybe he was just a man. But with equal patience, slowly building in mutual attraction, Snape ignored the voice of Dumbledore that served as his conscience, and let Hermione play him like the perfect instrument.

Hermione gradually forgot who she was kissing--it was a miracle--and a throbbing knot of warmth curled between her hips. She knew the moment Snape stopped caring as well. As she had said to herself, she had an idea what she could do after beginning, but it was the beginning that was the most difficult. However, now that they had crossed that boundary, Hermione was prepared. She did not move forward yet, but her hands reached out and explored the wiry muscles of his arms, his chest, and back. He was guarded then, though she could feel him under her fingers growing warmer and warmer. But when she deliberately ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, he gave a muffled moan and opened his mouth for her. That was what took Hermione. She grabbed his hands and slid them to her breasts. His thumbs teased the peaks until she pressed her hips against his and she could feel him against her. Her voluminous skirts seemed a hindrance.

Snape pushed her off, catching her off guard, and she almost started yelling at him, her coerced passion fading away. But he just stood, pulling Hermione up with him. He covered her protesting mouth with his; his hands grasped her lower hips and pressed her closer to him than she had been. As his lips trailed from her mouth to her neck, gracing her skin with teasing thrusts of his tongue, Hermione was even more aware of his arousal, and she rubbed herself against him. His breathing was harsh, but his mouth drifted lower, moistening the silk over her breasts, sending brilliant streaks of hot pleasure between her legs.

He was maneuvering her to his bed, and she panicked until his left hand slipped through the slit in her skirt, caressing her with purposeful strokes. Hermione lost control of herself and let out cry of longing and she mimicked him to make him respond. He removed his hand.

When she felt him leave her, she made her own caresses more insistent. He bucked against her, and she lost her balance, falling against the bed. She could hear the hiss of clothes against skin, and when he joined her, she knew he was not wearing anything anymore.

He was kissing her again, the deft plundering of his tongue melting her, making her cling to him. His hands, though, were prudently sweeping her back. She wanted him to touch her more sensuously and stroked him in just the right place to make him moan against her shoulder.

"Miss G--Hermione, how do you take this off?"

Hermione giggled against his neck as she realized why he was taking so long. "Just pull the back. It'll open."

And he did, slipping the silk and satin down her body and throwing it aside.

Then Hermione forced him onto his back, and as the last ember of the fire went out, she began the real seduction of Professor Severus Snape.